


What Doesn't Kill You Makes You Stronger

by sigur



Category: Reign (TV)
Genre: Multi, Possible Season 3 AU, Speculation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-17
Updated: 2015-06-11
Packaged: 2018-03-30 21:57:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3953257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sigur/pseuds/sigur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>WARNING: SPOILERS THROUGH 2x22</p><p>The start of this takes place two weeks after the events of Season 2's finale "Burn". This is my version of Season 3, to keep me in my Reign mood until the Season 3 premiere in October.</p><p>Mary and Francis, now reunited, continue to face opposition from Protestants and foreign powers. Catherine is now teamed up with Elizabeth for revenge against Mary. Kenna must deal with her pregnancy away from court while Bash now lives linked to Delphine. Intrigue prevails.</p><p>Updates whenever I have time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Shocking Relevation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which the newly reunited Mary and Francis take a walk, and Narcisse has something to tell Mary.

"Why is Nostradamus back at court?" Mary asked.

Mary and Francis were taking a stroll around the castle gardens. The sun was still low in the sky but the lake sparkled like a million crystals next to them, Mary's dress billowing in the wind.

"What?" Francis said.

"I saw him, this morning, in the hallways. He was walking somewhere, as if he was in a hurry. I haven't seen him since he was nearly executed," Mary responded.

Francis took a deep breath. "He's here at my request."

Mary raised her eyebrows. "Whatever for?"

Francis's eyes darted around, looking distracted. "He was a valuable seer to my mother. I owe him much. You don't object, do you?"

"No," Mary said, shaking her head, "of course not."

"Good," Francis said. "I'd better go, Bash wished to speak with me." He kissed her before turning around and going back in the direction of the castle.

 _Is there something wrong?_ Mary wanted to say, but Francis was too quickly gone.

Mary looked out over to the horizon. _What_ _a beautiful lake,_ Mary thought to herself. She had begun to feel like she did in the first months of her and Francis's marriage: happy, carefree. But there was still Elizabeth's vendetta to deal with, Catherine was most likely out for revenge, and Condé...

 _Do. Not. Think. About. Condé_.

Did he love her? _Probably_ , Mary thought. _But did I love him?_ Not anymore, anyway. She loved Francis, yet Mary could not find it in her heart to try hurting Condé again.

Then came Lola, running toward Mary, curls bouncing in the wind. "Mary!"

"Lola?" Mary said, "Is everything all right?"

Lola caught up to her, catching her breath. "Narcisse asks for you urgently."

"Narcisse? Why me? and why did he send you to tell me?"

Lola ignored her questions with a downward look. "It's a matter of the utmost importance. No word of it must reach outside ears." Lola took her by the hand and the two ran back to the castle.

"Lola, what is this all about?"

"I don't know, Mary, honestly."

They reached Narcisse's audience chamber. Lola turned to Mary outside of his door. "I hope everything is all right." Lola turned and walked away. Mary knocked on the door.

"Come in," Narcisse called out.

She entered his audience chamber--if it could even be called that. It looked like a small study, bare except for a single desk covered in papers at which sat Narcisse.

"Narcisse."

"Your Grace."

"What is it you wish to speak to me about?"

Narcisse took a deep breath before he spoke. "Do you remember when you and Francis accused Conde and Antoine of poisoning King Henry, driving him to insanity?" 

"Yes," Mary said, "how could I ever forget?"

Narcisse threw a scroll of paper onto the desk. "One of my spies has uncovered a receipt. It belongs to the Prince of Condé."

"Louis?" Mary took a cautious step forward and opened the paper. It was scrawled with some words in an Basque dialect, but two words were unmistakable: mercury, and arsenic.

"What is the meaning of this?" she asked.

"I'm assuming you speak no Basque," Narcisse said, and Mary nodded. "Well, the first item, mercury, was to be shipped to Antoine's home in Navarre, according to this document."

Mary frowned. "Go on."

"It just so happens that the poisoned bible that Henry and Catherine had is decorated in a gilded style trademark of an Basque-speaking region in the Pyrenees Mountains, near the Navarrese border," Narcisse continued, "Most likely, the bible was made and bought in a location close to where these poisons were purchased--"

"--linking the two together," Mary finished. "What happened with the poisons?"

"As I said, mercury went straight into the hands of Antoine. Condé kept the arsenic to himself, it seems," Narcisse got up from his chair and began pacing the room. "Mercury, in small doses over time, is known to cause insanity. Not enough poison to kill, but enough to drive the victim insane while he or she is in contact with the source. Correct me if I'm wrong, but this sounds much like what happened with the late King Henry. As for arsenic, well, arsenic is known to sometimes cause hemorrhaging, or bleeding, in the ear and nose. If given in small enough doses, symptoms are dormant until a sudden shock or injury causes the poisoning into full swing."

Mary looked up, startled. "Are you saying--"

"That Francis was poisoned?" Narcisse asked. "Yes, I believe so."

"But, he recovered," Mary said.

"Most likely because he was no longer in contact with the arsenic. His symptoms are most likely still dormant at the moment."

"My God," Mary muttered under her breath, "Because of me, because I planned to run away to Scotland, the poisoning surfaced?"

"Most importantly, Mary, who do you suppose is behind Francis's arsenic poisoning?" 

"Are you saying," Mary said, "that Louis intentionally poisoned Francis?"

Narcisse looked at Mary. "He was at court, in close proximity to Francis. Also, I have found several letters confirming my theories, that Antoine was responsible for the insanity of Henry, and Condé for Francis's illness," Narcisse placed a stack of letters on his desk. "You can read them if you wish."

Mary was horrified. Could all of this be true? "Why are you helping us?"

Narcisse sighed. "Because, Your Majesty, believe it or not, I actually care for the safety of this realm. France does not benefit from having insane or dead kings."

Mary was stunned. "I must find him. Condé."

Narcisse chuckled. "You still defend him, you still think he will have a rational explanation for all of this evidence against him? Well, if you ever see him again, give him my regards. No man has won over both the Queen of England and the Queen of Scots, save him," Narcisse said.

Mary paused.

"He tried to kill my husband twice, took advantage of me, and kept secret his brother's treason. If I ever see him again, I will put a dagger through his heart."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed! Please leave kudos and a comment if you enjoyed :)


	2. The Quickening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kenna contemplates her situation, and whether or not she will keep her baby.

The sun was high in the sky by the time the ship left port at Calais for Sweden. The cool spring breeze rushed in through the windows of the chamber of a Lady Kenna as she looked back towards the French mainland, growing ever smaller by the minute.

Kenna hadn't been on a ship since she left Scotland for France when Mary Stuart had been summoned back to French Court and was in need of her ladies. At the time, with her was Lola, the one fond of poetry and a young man from Aberdeen, Greer, the one whose birth in the gentry rather than nobility had taught her to find a husband, and of course Aylee, the youngest of them all, who always had a smile on her face and a joke to tell.

_Remember me as the girls we once were, not the women we've become._

The words echoed through Kenna's head. Those were the last words she had said to her friends. Would she ever see them again? Lola, whom everyone believed to be Francis's mistress, Greer, a disgraced madame, and Mary, Queen of Scots, who had had to learn that what doesn't kill you makes you stronger after being raped last winter. Oh, how she missed them.

And Bash. Even thinking his name filled Kenna with shame.

A great lurch of the ship just then upset Kenna's stomach. Or was it pregnancy that was to blame for her sickness?

Kenna cautiously held a hand over her stomach. She was what, two months along? Not showing yet, not for perhaps another month.

She took out Mary's brief letter of instructions to her and read it for the thousandth time:

_Dearest Kenna,_

_Upon arriving in Stockholm, there will be a man by the name of Julius Eklund waiting for you. Julius Eklund is the Swedish ambassador to Scotland. He knew me, as a child, and is loyal to anyone close with the Scottish queen. Therefore, I believe to the best of my knowledge that you can trust him fully with your true identity. He will then take you to his estate southwest of Stockholm, where you will stay with him and his wife Emilia. You will hide there until you give birth._

_From then, you can do one of two things._

_You can either give the child to the Eklund family, where he or she will be raised as an Eklund in both name and blood. After you recover, you would return to French court, to Bash, Lola, Greer, and I, your honor intact. Or, if you wish you may keep the child. Please understand what this would cost you. I may be able to negotiate a deal in which you live out the rest of your days as a French widow with a child living in Sweden. You may never be able to return home._

_The choice is yours, dearest Kenna._

_Yours, Marie R._

Kenna hadn't considered keeping the child. It was for the best, after all, was it not? The child would have a stable home, a family. Mainly though, Kenna didn't want to raise a child without Bash at her side.

 _Oh, Bash_. How she longed for his touch, for his company. Would he--could he--ever forgive her? _Maybe, many years from now. But can I ever forgive myself?_

_How can I possibly take care of a child when I can't even take care of myself?_

Then, everything changed. The baby kicked.

It wasn't so much a kick than it was like a butterfly landed in her womb. It lasted for a split second, just a little quickening, but it was enough.

Before, Kenna had been in denial that an actual human was growing inside of her--a real, living baby. The child was more of an obstacle that had ruined her relationship with Bash, that would destroy her reputation and ruin her figure forever.

She was pregnant. Not with an obstacle, but with a living, human, breathing baby.

"I can't give him or her away," Kenna realized, "I just can't. Even if it means losing Bash forever."

After all, her "sister's child" was welcome to visit Imereti, as was she. Kenna most certainly did not want to become another king's mistress, especially not to someone so young and with a child to think of. But the boy king seemed like an amiable fellow, that would perhaps be open to Kenna  raising her child in Imereti. _I don't want to give up my child,_ Kenna thought to herself again.

She grinned. _Am I insane?_ she thought. She may never see Bash again. But this child may be the last person in the world that Kenna could love and be loved by in return.

"I'm going to have a baby," she said to herself. And laughed.

_Will it be a boy or girl?_

_What should I name the baby?_

_Will he or she look like me?_

Kenna's thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door. A young maid of about fifteen or sixteen peeked in.

"Yes?" Kenna asked.

"The King Alexander of Imereti asks if the Lady Kenna would wish to join him for supper," the girl replied cautiously.

 _So, the boy's name is Alexander?_ Kenna smiled. "Yes, of course. I will be there soon."

When Kenna first came to France, she had such grand dreams and plans for her future. She never dreamed she would end up heartbroken and pregnant with an illegitimate child on a ship to Sweden.

Perhaps there were other plans in store for her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoyed!
> 
> As always, please comment and leave kudos if you want to see more! And, if you have any questions, ideas, or prompts, feel free to ask me in the comments below.
> 
> Next chapter will focus on Catherine and Elizabeth, the two most badass women of sixteenth century Europe, discussing plans for revenge. 
> 
> I plan to establish and move forward all of the major plotlines this "season" by chapter five or six. 
> 
> So, my questions for you:  
> Who are you hoping for Kenna, a boy or a girl? and Do you think that she made the right decision in keeping the baby?


	3. Three Queens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Catherine meets with Elizabeth and tries to convince her to take action against Scotland immediately.

Catherine de' Medici knew what it was like to be an outsider. As a child, she had been under siege, the only Medici in all of Florence. As a teenager, she was sent to France to wed its next king. And now, she was a disgraced queen, Italian born, French grown, upon English soil. She would from now on be a foreigner everywhere, thanks to Mary. Good God, Mary, what I did was for the good of France!

Now, though, it wouldn't matter. Now, Catherine was about to enter Elizabeth's Privy Council meeting and together, the two would plot her downfall. Catherine had watched her son suffer while Mary was off making love to his cousin time and time again, and betraying Francis time and time again. _She will be the death of him_ , those were Nostradamus's own words.

Then, Catherine had been exiled at her hands. Mary had committed a fatal mistake as queen; she had put the personal over the political. Mary was a reigning monarch of an entire country, but by the time Catherine and Elizabeth were through with her, Mary would be a naive, disgraced princess without her head.

Catherine now entered Elizabeth's Privy Council chamber.

It was a modest room, lit up by windows on one wall. A large rectangular table was in the middle. Around it sat middle aged, balding men in stiff English collars. But at the head of the table, sitting on a gilded chair, was Elizabeth. She looked formidable, just like in the portraits: beautiful, tall, with fiery red hair and a temper to match it.

The men in the room stopped speaking and turned to look at her. Elizabeth looked her in the eye as well.

"Leave us," Elizabeth said, without so much as glancing away from Catherine's gaze.

One by one, the men filed out of the room, casting suspicious glances at Catherine as they left.

"Don't mind them," Elizabeth said, "They inherently distrust Catholics."

"And you do not?" Catherine retorted. "Last I checked, you tried to incite Protestants in France and Scotland to rebellion."

"Did I now?" Elizabeth said with a smirk.

Catherine sighed.

"Let's not talk about that," Elizabeth said, "Rather, let's talk about the Queen of Scots."

"Of course," Catherine said, walking closer to where Elizabeth was, "I believe that the best way to bring Mary Stuart down is to attack Scotland from the inside. Mary is far away in France, and if we act discreetly--"

"Wait a moment. What do you mean, we?" Elizabeth interrupted.

Catherine looked frustrated. "My dear, please do not interrupt me while I am speaking. As I was saying--"

"Must I remind you, _my dear_ , that though you may be more than two decades my senior, it is I and not you who is the Queen at this court," Elizabeth said, "Why are you so eager to work with me?"

Catherine was insulted at Elizabeth's remark, before saying "I wish to see her dead."

"Mary Stuart?"

"Yes, her."

Elizabeth paused for a moment, thinking. "Why?"

"She put personal before political, much too many times," Catherine replied.

"Ah," Elizabeth cocked her head to the side, "You mean, like yourself?"

Catherine looked her in the eye. "I'm sorry?"

Elizabeth chuckled, her green eyes piercing. "In coming here, you are betraying your own son, risking everything so that you can get revenge against Mary Stuart," Elizabeth said, "And is revenge not always personal?"

"Perhaps, dear Elizabeth," Catherine said, composing herself, "But this is a world of kill or be killed. I will not allow Mary Stuart to live while my son and I suffer."

"Then that is where we diverge, dear Catherine," Elizabeth said. "I wish to bring down the Queen of Scots--while she sits on any king's or consort's throne, she is a threat to the safety of my realm. I have nothing against Mary Stuart, and I truly wish to spare her from the ax if I am able. However, you wish to destroy Mary Stuart, not the Queen of Scots. So, tell me, Catherine. What would you have me do? Invade Scotland and put all of Britain to war?"

"You would win easily if you were to attack now," Catherine pointed out. "When Marie de Guise, Regent of Scotland, dies, Mary will most likely return to Scotland and rule. At that point, it will be far more difficult as the country will then have a true figurehead to look up to."

"Very true," said Elizabeth, "But invading Scotland while the ferocious Marie de Guise rules is dangerous at times like these."

"Marie de Guise is close to death. I would suggest to assemble an army now, rather than later," Catherine said.

Elizabeth looked surprised. "Marie de Guise, close to death? You know this how?"

"I have many connections all over Europe that are still loyal to me, and they say that the Queen Regent has but weeks left to live."

Elizabeth looked disconcerted. "Then the day of action is upon us sooner than I thought." She looked at Catherine again. "Why should I trust you? You are a French queen, a Catholic queen at that. Prior to you coming here, I imagine that I have always been the enemy and not the ally. Why should I allow you into my confidence and allow you to help plan my attacks?"

"I'm sure you've heard enough of my reputation to be wary of trusting me, which is wise. But I can tell you this: the enemy of my enemy is my ally. We are women, Elizabeth. We fight our enemies, just like men. But we are not men. Our armor is worn in the mind. We can manipulate, we persuade. We are underestimated, but we have learned to make our weaknesses our strengths. That is how countries are won and wars are fought. The two of us together, fighting against a common enemy, is a force to be reckoned with."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoyed! Please leave kudos, and comment if you wish to see a particular storyline or wish to submit a prompt.
> 
> The next chapter will focus on Bash and his mixed emotions concerning Kenna's departure and Francis struggling to decide whether or not to tell his brother about Nostradamus's prediction.
> 
> In a bit I also wish to have a chapter that focuses on Elizabeth's thoughts and emotions.


	4. Scars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bash talks to Francis about what happened with Kenna.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the hiatus. Blame finals, not me :P

Whenever Bash got angry, he had a habit of doing odd and potentially dangerous things. Once, when he was eleven, he had gotten in an argument with Francis over some silly stick sword fight. Bash immediately went to the stables and let all of the horses loose. For hours the stable boys were chasing down all of the horses which were galloping around the gardens at French court and causing mayhem. It had always been like this when he was a child; looking back on it, maybe it was because he wanted more attention from people. 

Sure, his father favored him above all of his true born children, but as a bastard Bash would always be living in his half-brother's shadow. People at court always ignored him, and any kind of anger or desperation always made him remember the feeling of being ignored. The "odd and potentially dangerous things" Bash used to do waned as he got older, probably because he had begun to feel more appreciated and didn't have much to get terribly upset about.

Oh, but how upset he was now!

First there was Kenna: dear Kenna, whom Bash was convinced only slept with him so she could claim her child as his. Why in God's name had she felt that she could not tell him the truth? He would have forgiven her, for sure. The child would be for all intents and purposes his and Kenna's. If being a bastard had taught him anything, it was that blood did not dictate family.

Then there was Delphine. Delphine, who had lied to him about what she was doing with that man in the castle--what the hell was up with Delphine? He cared for her, but then she had begun to burn, and he began to burn, until the pain blinded him and next thing he knew he was safe and alive but Delphine had escaped somewhere. 

Bash, as the son of a pagan woman (where was Diane, anyway?) knew that Delphine had performed some sort of blood magic that tied their pains together. He felt her pains, and she felt...his. 

So, in other words, if he was hurt, she would be too. Considering the fact that a horse had nearly trampled him all those years ago and left him with a broken leg, Bash took out his anger by swinging at a tree near the lake.

Swing. A single slash from his sword had exposed the smooth wood underneath. Is this what being pregnant is like? he thought, out of the blue.

Swing. Another mark crossed the first one, making a large "X" on the rough bark. Unable to do anything remotely dangerous, in fear of hurting the life connected to yours?

Swing. Swing. Swing. Now all that was left was a bunch of scars on the tree. Is this how Kenna feels now?

He was about to take another swing at the tree when he heard footsteps behind him

"Are you sure that's necessary?" Francis said.

Bash turned around. "Francis." He dropped the sword to the ground. "Is anything the matter?"

Francis looked perplexed. "That's what I wanted to ask you."

Bash looked at the tree. Hashes of scars cut by a very sharp blade. Why had that happened again? Why had he ruined a perfectly good tree with a perfectly good sword?

"...Bash?" Francis said behind him, awaiting an answer.

"Erm," Bash said, turning back to his brother, "anger management."

"Ah," Francis said. He chuckled. "At least it wasn't like that time with the horses." His face softened with concern. "Kenna, I presume?"

Bash sighed. "Short story? Yes."

Francis sat down on a fallen tree trunk. "Why did she leave, anyway? So suddenly?"

"She was...she decided to visit some family," Bash said.

"If she was visiting family, you would have come with her," Francis said, looking at Bash. "What happened, really?"

"It's a long story."

"I should think so."

"Well," Bash said, trying to articulate the events of the past year, "For a while, I've been rather busy at my job. Away, most of the time, doing good, but I wasn't at home much."

Francis nodded.

"Kenna didn't like that. She began to feel lonely, I guess. Apparently, Antoine tried to seduce her, promising things that he could never give her. I found out about it, acted harshly. I suppose I overreacted, but she soon sought the company of Renaude while I grew closer to Delphine."

Francis frowned. "And?"

"She's pregnant. With his child. She tried to sleep with me to convince me that her child by Renaude is mine."

Francis thought for a moment, stunned. "So that is why she left? To give birth to her illegitimate child so her reputation wouldn't be tarnished?"

"I would assume so," Bash said, trying to sound nonchalant and disconnected.

"But I thought that you loved her."

"So did I," Bash confessed, "I mean, I still do, I guess."

"Then why aren't you with her?"

"I can't. Not after what she did to me. If the same happened with Mary, would you act any differently?"

Francis breathed in sharply. "What happened with Mary is different. After the attack on the castle, I mean."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean for it to sound like that," Bash said, "But still, though, after what happened with Condé. Don't you feel betrayed?"

"Of course I do. I haven't forgotten what she did," Francis said, "but I have forgiven her. We are stronger together than apart, and some recent...developments have put things into perspective."

"What do you mean?"

Francis looked at Bash, trying to gauge whether or not to tell him about the prophecy. He cleared his voice. "Nostradamus has said that I will die."

Bash thought for a moment. "All men die, Francis."

"Yes," Francis said, "I know, I know. But he said the prophecy from before still holds. That Catherine de' Medici's firstborn will die."

"Francis," Bash said, "Clarissa is Catherine's firstborn. She died not two months ago."

"What?" Francis said, turning to look at him, hopeful. Then his face fell. "But this time he did say that I would die. He didn't refer to me as 'firstborn.'"

"Nostradamus doesn't know that Clarissa is dead," Bash said. "He thought Clarissa died a long time ago, and when he still kept seeing signs of Catherine's firstborn's imminent death he assumed it was you. But he didn't know that it was about Clarissa, because she was still alive."

Francis hesitated for a moment. "So, you're saying that I might live? That I am not the child of Catherine in the prophecy?"

"Yes," Bash said, "I am sure of it. Go talk to Nostradamus." 

Francis shook his head in agreement before heading back for the castle.

"Wait," Bash called out after him. Francis turned around again. "One more thing, brother. It is a mistake to live in fear of death. Death is the one thing that is always constant, always lurking, in such a tumultuous world like ours. Such omnipotence scares men; people fear what they cannot control. You could die seconds from now, you could die before I die, you could die after I die. Don't fear death. Focus on life instead; something you can control."

Francis was silent for a moment before he nodded. "Thank you, brother," he said in a voice barely above a whisper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! As always, please comment :)
> 
> Next chapter will be written from Lola's perspective (like this chapter was from Bash's).


End file.
